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His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. From none of these could Jack ascertain what had become of Thames, or learn any particulars concerning the family at Dollis Hill, or of his mother. Wood was once a favourite of yours. Squire and master. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked.
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